


There’s Danger in Your Eyes, Cherie

by moonythejedi394



Series: the same story; told different ways [8]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, Burlesque, Crossdressing, Don't copy to another site, Drag Queens, First Meetings, M/M, Mobster Bucky Barnes, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Prohibition, Russian Mafia, Sugar Daddy, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, drag queen steve rogers, this is what i call the precursor to some self-indulgent smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: The year is 1919, New York City is a mix of bumbling boozeheads and the fellas that make the booze. The place is a speakeasy in Brooklyn, the bar is crowded with smoke and the smell of whiskey. A skinny Omega in a cheap evening gown sings “There’s Danger In Your Eyes, Cherie” over a piano bar; she sounds good but she can’t hit the high notes quite right. The men in the bar don’t care. The skinny dame’s name is Stevie Rogers, he’s a drag queen, and he’s doing a burlesque number.Near the back in a private booth, a rich sonuvabitch smokes a cigar and watches with dark eyes as Stevie Rogers starts to slip off her gloves. That rich sonuvabitch’s name is James Barnes, and he’s what polite folk call bad news. He’s what impolite folk call one of them damn mafia men. He's what Steve's about to call a Sugar Daddy.And this is only the beginning.





	There’s Danger in Your Eyes, Cherie

**Author's Note:**

> _is this new series going to be more than gratuitous master/pet smut, fluff, and minor angst? probably not. plot will follow eventually._

A cloud of cigar smoke hangs over the heads of the patrons. There’s chatter, because there always. The bar is decently crowded and the dancefloor has a few drunks stumbling through a slow waltz. There is a stage, but it is currently empty; off to the side, a three-piece band plays, a piano, a violin, a bass. The patrons are waiting for the stage to be filled again.

 

In a corner booth, Bucky sips at a glass of whiskey. He has a copy of the  _ Times _ on the table in front of him and he’s idly reading the front page again. Congress passed Volstead Act this morning, so really, the whiskey he’s sipping is now very, very illegal. 

 

The new Prohibition, of course, has come as a shock to most of the country. Not Bucky. He’s proud to say that the country’s loss is his gain. He’s already invested in places like this, the Big Apples, to inflate the black market with quality, illicit booze. His investment includes security for Big Apples and an opportunity for him.

 

He’s read the  _ Times _ through once already, it doesn’t concern him. Like the rest of the bar, he’s waiting for the show to begin.

 

The band finishes the current song. There’s a lull as they flip pages in their music books, then the lull stretches. Bucky lowers his newspaper. The house lights dim as the piano player leans over to his microphone and announces:

 

“Presenting the Big Apple’s Golden Girl, Miss Stephanie Rogers!”

 

The violinist and bassist pick up a new song and the pianist joins in quickly. A spotlight on the stage kicks on. Bucky lifts his cigar to his mouth and takes a generous puff. The curtains part and the spotlight hits the poised figure of Miss Stephanie Rogers before her microphone.

 

Miss Stephanie gives the bar a bright smile. Her golden curls hang just above her shoulders, which are dusted with freckles. Her lipstick is a bright shade of red, her cheeks perfectly rouged. Her eyes are bright blue, pure and gorgeous like starlight, even from across the bar. Her dress, sleeveless and held up by two thin straps over her shoulders, is a soft gold, sparkling like champagne, and one leg slips out from the slight going up to her mid-thigh, her foot nestled in a dainty white pump. She raises her hands, clad in white gloves that go up to her elbows, and her underarms are perfectly smooth, pale like the rest of her.

 

“Good evening, boys,” she says and her voice is just a little bit too deep to be a woman’s.

 

The music kicks into a soft, jazzy tune and Miss Stephanie begins to sing. Bucky reclines in his booth, cigar held between his teeth. It is Miss Stephanie that he has come to see.

 

“Cherie, cherie, within your eyes I see that light of love that I've always been dreaming of!”

 

As she sings, she begins a gentle sway on the stage, swinging her pantyhose-clad leg out from the slit in her gown. The bar is enraptured. 

 

“There's danger in your eyes, cherie, but I don't care,” Miss Stephanie croons.

 

She kicks off one of her shoes. The bar whoops and begins to applaud. Bucky starts to smile.

 

“I'd give up paradise, cherie, your love to share,” Miss Stephanie sings and she kicks off her other shoe. “Your kisses taste like wine and when your lips meet mine, I know that anything with you would be divine!”

 

Miss Stephanie slips off her gloves next; she tosses them into the crowd and a starstruck patron catches them, amidst cheers and whoops. Miss Stephanie captures the whole bar with her smile, and with the way she flicks a strap off her shoulder.

 

“There's danger in your charms, cherie, but oh, the bliss,” she sings and slides the side of her dress with the slit up to reveal the tops of her stockings, but drops it again as she does a little twirl on the stage, lifting up on her toes, “To linger in your arms, cherie, and just kiss and kiss!”

 

Miss Stephanie plucks the microphone from its stand and dances to the edge of the stage where she kneels and holds out a hand to the crowds gathered to watch her.

 

“Just tell me when and where,” she coos, then jumps up and dances away to cup the chin of another starstruck fool, “We'll have our love affair. There's danger in your eyes, cherie!”

 

The crowd cries out for more. Miss Stephanie smiles as she flicks the other strap off her shoulder. Bucky watches as she stands and sways her hips to cross the stage again; she hooks her fingers into the slit of her gown again as she sings and sinks to her knees again, her red lips almost touching the microphone in her hand.

 

“Your kisses taste like wine,” she sings again.

 

She stands, singing to the crowd gathered by the stage begging her to come nearer again, and she tucks the microphone back in its cradle. She lifts her arms again and begins to bop side to side, singing through the chorus. But then she winks and reaches behind her. She sways her hips as she dances around the microphone, putting her back to the crowd, and she shows the bar the deft way in which she releases the zipper at the back of her gown. 

 

“To linger in your arms, cherie,” she sings, “and just kiss and kiss!”

 

The gown drops to her waist. She throws a glance over her shoulder, winks then lets it drop. 

 

There are whistles and cheers. Bucky smiles on; he has seen Miss Stephanie do this number many times. Her back is bare, but she wears a garter skirt that covers her pert little ass. 

 

“Just tell me when and where,” Miss Stephanie coos into the microphone, “we'll have our love affair!”

 

She steps out from the puddled gown on the stage floor. The crowd cheers. Miss Stephanie lifts her hands to cover her chest, and she sways to the side, back around to face the crowd.

 

Her hands are flat over her chest, and her garter skirt is short enough in the front to show the bulge of her cock. Miss Stephanie throws a wink out to the crowd.

 

“There's danger in your eyes, cherie,” she sings, “for me, but I don't care!”

 

She lifts her hands. The crowd whoops. Her chest is flat, but shiny metal caps cover her nipples.

 

“There’s danger in your eyes, cherie,” she croons one last time, “but I don’t care!”

 

The curtain drops. The crowd shouts for an encore, but Bucky spots the bartender, Janice, speaking with Dum Dum across the room. Dum Dum turns and gives Bucky an OK sign. Bucky drains his whiskey, then pushes up.

 

That was Miss Stephanie’s only show of the night. Bucky makes his way through the crowd, cigar hanging from his lip, and meets Dum Dum by the bar.

 

“Car’s ready when you are,” Dum Dum tells him.

 

“I’ll be a while,” Bucky answers.

 

A tall woman with pronounced purple lips approaches them. She smiles at Bucky and offers her hand.

 

“You can come with me, sugar,” she says in a very deep voice. “I’ll show you to her room.”

 

Bucky holds out his elbow. She smiles and takes it. Bucky taps his cigar on an ashtray as she leads him past the bar, to a door marked  _ Private: No Admittance. _

 

She pulls a key from the front of her dress and unlocks it. She ushers Bucky through and locks it again. There’s a short hallway and Bucky is lead through the farthest door, into a dressing room.

 

“Oh, we’re bein’ invaded!” a thick woman calls. “Betty, you ain’t doin’ business ‘n ‘ere!”

 

“Oh, stuff a cock in it!” Betty retorts. “He’s here to see Stevie!”

 

The queens all gasp and giggle. Bucky smirks. Betty walks with her nose in the air as she leads Bucky through; across the dressing room, there are a few more doors. Betty knocks on the second from the left.

 

It’s barely a second before it opens.

 

“I only just got out, don’ tell me I gotta go back!” Stevie snaps before the door opens fully, wrapped in a dressing gown and wig removed to reveal shorter, rumpled blonde hair. Then his gaze lands on Bucky and he stops, blinking. “Oh.”

 

“You have a visitor,” Betty says in a soft falsetto.

 

Stevie opens the door further, stepping back. Betty releases Bucky’s elbow and Bucky steps into the private dressing room, his hands going into his pockets as he looks around. Stevie shuts the door.

 

“I didn’t know you’d be coming here,” Stevie says quietly. “I don’t usually take clients back here.”

 

Bucky turns, plucking the cigar from his lip. He offers Stevie a smile. “I ain’t the usual client,” he says.

 

“Have a seat,” Stevie says, brisk.

 

Bucky looks over his shoulder, then sits himself on a chaise lounge. Stevie crosses to the vanity in a flutter of his dressing gown, then drops down and crosses his legs. He’s still wearing his stockings.

 

“If you’re not the usual client,” Stevie begins in an all-business manner, “what do you want?”

 

“I have an offer for you,” Bucky answers. “A long-term one.”

 

“I don’t do long-term,” Stevie replies immediately.

 

“‘Cause you got a contract?” Bucky asks, still smiling calmly.

 

Stevie pauses. He looks confused.

 

“I worked things out with your boss,” Bucky says then, leaning back on the chaise lounge. He crosses his ankle over his knee and sets the hand with his cigar on his ankle. He drapes his left arm over the back of the sofa, his gloved hand curling over the wood frame, just casual. “You been released from your contract.”

 

“How’d you manage that?” Stevie demands, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward.

 

“I paid up a shit-ton,” Bucky says flippantly, smiling wider. “You heard about Prohibition?”

 

“Yeah,” Stevie says simply, but the subject brings up concern in his manner. “I didn’t think they’d go through with it.”

 

“I’ve become a benefactor,” Bucky replies. “To ensure Big Apples can afford to keep their liquor cabinets stocked.”

 

Stevie tips his head to the side. His lips, still reddened by makeup, thin. Bucky lifts his cigar and takes a drag.

 

“What is the long-term deal?” Stevie asks.

 

Bucky smirks.

 

“I’d like you to move in with me,” he says. “We’ll say you’re my maid,” he explains. “That’d be true, in some ways, but you’d be keepin’ house not just ‘cause I pay you.”

 

“Why don’t you just hire a housekeeper?” Stevie asks in a dry drawl.

 

“I ain’t lookin’ to fuck any housekeeper,” Bucky responds with equal wryness.

 

Stevie sits upright, his expression shifting. “I’m listening,” he says.

 

Bucky’s smirk grows. “I know your reputation,” he continues. “I know you like to serve, please, all that fun stuff. I want you to be my little pet.”   


 

“What’s in it for me?” Stevie returns.

 

“A pretty penny a week,” Bucky says. “Seventy-five bucks?”

 

“I could get that much in a night,” Stevie says dryly. “Try two hundred.”

 

Bucky lets out a whistle. “I like me a gal who knows what she wants,” he answers flippantly. “Two Bens a week, I’d say that’s fair.”

 

Stevie uncrosses his legs and sits back. “And what do you want in the bedroom?”

 

“Only to have you beggin’ for my cock,” Bucky says with a cheeky grin. “Rough you up a lil’, if that’s what you like.”

 

“What I like?” Stevie repeats, raising his eyebrows. “That’s different.”   


 

Bucky shrugs. “I want long-term,” he reiterates. “Best to keep it genuine.”

 

“When would you want me to start?” Stevie asks.

 

“Tonight.”

 

Stevie glances over his shoulder towards the door. “I have a few more shows,” he starts to say.

 

“I bought out the rest of your night,” Bucky tells him.

 

Stevie looks back at him, raising his eyebrows again. “A little hopeful, ain’t’cha?”   


 

Bucky shrugs again. “Just wanted to be prepared.”

 

Stevie drops his eyebrows, his eyes instead narrowing slightly. He purses his lips. Bucky lifts his brows, calmly taking a puff on his cigar. 

 

“Why me?” Stevie asks abruptly. “There’s plenty of other Omegas out there in this line of work, an actual woman would be much easier for you to pay to be your ‘pet’,” he encloses the word in finger quotes. “Why’d you want me?”

 

Bucky puffs on his cigar for a moment longer while he thinks about his answer. Stevie crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“Back when I was in the Army, I got hit by a nasty grenade,” Bucky says bluntly. “Got taken to an Army hospital where this pretty little nurse pulled a hot rod’s worth’a shrapnel outta my body and had me doin’ a jig afterwards, she did her job so damn good. Her name was Stephanie,” he says with sobriety. “Might’a lost my arm if it weren’t for her.”

 

Stevie’s eyes widen. Bucky nods slowly.

 

“Never been gladder to discover a dame ain’t a dame,” he concludes.

 

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” Stevie says quietly.

 

“Wouldn’t’ve, if I hadn’t looked int’a sponsoring this place,” Bucky answers. “Truth be told, I was thinkin’a just pickin’ a queen from this place, but when I saw you…”

 

He stops, lifting his cigar in a slight shrug. Stevie glances away from him, biting his lip. Bucky’s never wanted to kiss someone more in his whole life. 

 

“Still,” Stevie says. “Why are you offering me this just – just like this?” he asks. “Why do you trust me already? You’re –” he stops, then sighs and just gestures.

 

“A mobster?” Bucky finishes for him.

 

Stevie grimaces a little. “Yeah. You guys don’t even trust your mamas.”

 

“I’d trust my mama with my life,” Bucky defends himself.

 

“But why me?” Stevie asks again.

 

“‘Cause,” Bucky says, again smiling. “I figured fellas like you don’t fix nothin’ only just to break it again later.”

 

Stevie looks pensive. He picks at the hem of his dressing gown, eyes searching Bucky’s. Then he sits back, an all-business confidence slipping back into his attitude.

 

“What kinda long-term?” Stevie asks finally.

 

“A year to start,” Bucky tells him, then tips his head in a light shrug. “After that, hopefully, you’ll wanna stay without a contract.”

 

Stevie just looks at him for a second, tapping his fingers against his vanity. Bucky looks back, relaxed and calm. It won’t break his heart if Stevie says no, and it won’t break the bank if he says yes. Bucky hopes for yes.

 

“I’ll do a trial period,” Stevie offers. “Two weeks, then we can discuss a year-long contract.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bucky agrees. “How’s five Bens for those two weeks, just to make it a prettier number?”

 

“I like that deal,” Stevie replies, a smirk curling his lip.

 

Bucky pops his cigar back into his mouth and stretches forward to offer his hand. Stevie smiles and bridges the distance; his handshake is firm and brief. Bucky can tell a lot about a man just from his handshake, and from Stevie’s glossy red nails gripping his wrist, he can tell that this was going to go well.

**Author's Note:**

> _cue the old school warner brothers "eh buh buh ah, and that's all folks!" part two will arrive eventually. the title comes from[the song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkmA9ZguIVg), which wasn't actually out in 1919 but we're gonna pretend it was bc it fits so well. follow me on [tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/), or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394) or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying_


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